


For in them dwelleth...

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020 [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Bathtubs, Domestic Fluff, Hair Washing, Implied Sexual Content, Just unrepentantly domestic on main, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: There’s a kiss to the top of his head, infinitely gentle in affection, full of love and devotion. There’s the light scratch of well-manicured nails against his scalp, from the crown of his head and all the way back, that leaves him certain he understands why cats tend to purr.  There’s a hand linking with his, and the smooth metal of Aziraphale’s wedding band against his own fingers.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073915
Comments: 33
Kudos: 122
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020





	For in them dwelleth...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MickyRC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickyRC/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Devoutly I Adore Thee](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28317726) by [MovesLikeBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky). 



> Day 12! The prompt for this one is “For in him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily.” (Colossians 2:9), and it's a sequel to Day 1, bookending this whole challenge together! It's a little bit late, and I'll say more about that down in the end notes, cuz I have something important to say there.
> 
> This one is for MickyRC, who built DIWS with their own two hands and has allowed me to come along for the ride; 2020 was a crazy year, but you made it better my friend - not just for me, but for this whole fandom <3
> 
> I'm also gonna take half a second to thank the beta readers I have had on these along the way: Obsessionful, sosobriquet, d20owlbear, Euterpein, and Dashicra1 - every one of them amazing and wonderful <3 <3

Crowley stirs to wakefulness with Aziraphale’s fingers threading through his hair. He’s pleasantly sore and satisfied, waking to the world in a haze of love and happiness. And stickiness…not so good with that part.

But he’s pillowed against his angel’s chest, able to feel every needless breath the angel takes. Slow and steady, just like Aziraphale always is; a soft rise and fall that threatens to lull Crowley back down into sleep. Aziraphale’s skin is warm everywhere it presses against him. Soft and plush, comfortable to a fault.  _ Distractingly _ comfortable. Crowley would drift off again right now if it wasn’t for the chest hair tickling his cheek and his nose.

He settles for grumbling and wrapping his arms around Aziraphale tighter, twining their legs together as he does. Aziraphale chuckles, a low rumble of a laugh, one that Crowley can feel just as much as hear from his position. He laughs with his whole heart every time he does, bright and joyous, like music to Crowley’s ears.

“Darling, are you awake?” Aziraphale asks as he tucks Crowley’s hair behind his ear.

“Nope, very asleep,” Crowley grumbles against his chest, “Most… most asleep I’ve ever been, me. Completely conked out. Dead to the world.”

“You silly thing.”

There’s a kiss to the top of his head, infinitely gentle in affection, full of love and devotion. There’s the light scratch of well-manicured nails against his scalp, from the crown of his head and all the way back, that leaves him certain he understands why cats tend to purr. There’s a hand linking with his, and the smooth metal of Aziraphale’s wedding band against his own fingers.

It still aches, this old black heart of his, to think that this is life now. With a cottage and a garden, squabbles over the dishes and long nights on the sofa, used towels on the floor and exasperated sighs. The domesticity of it all is almost painful.

Sure, back before the world didn’t end, Crowley had thought about all manner of things when it came to Aziraphale. He’d spent countless hours imagining how Aziraphale’s kiss would taste, if it would burn like holy water. He had imagined making love to Aziraphale, his own hand the only companion (never a human, and never anyone else.He didn’t have it in him for it). He wondered if Aziraphale would be slow and gentle or rough and forceful. Would the soldier in him come out in the bedroom, or would he still be this soft and fussy angel that Crowley had grown to love so wholeheartedly? Would he take his time, or would he rush? And if there was a first time, where would it be? The bookshop? On the sofa? Back in his flat in his bed or on his throne? So much time had been spent wondering about what-if’s that Crowley knew could never be, nothing prepared him for the actuality.

Nothing prepared him for the groggy “good morning” tinged with sleepiness and just a hint of dry throat that Aziraphale greets him with every day now. Nothing prepared him for falling asleep wrapped in strong arms, so much like when a white wing sheltered him from the first storm, sheltering him from anything bad that could find him in the night. Nothing prepared him for seeing the blissful expression on Aziraphale’s face, only ever reserved for the finest of fine dining establishments, painted on his features by the brushstrokes of a meal that Crowley himself had made with the fresh vegetables from his garden.

Nothing had prepared him for the stress of blending two very different lives, for the annoyances and arguments that come between any lovers. For having to follow Aziraphale around and take used teacups to the sink when he inevitably forgets them. For being scolded for being too loud in the garden, shouting at the plants while Aziraphale tries to read. For the stressfulness of living a life the human way, of getting in each other's way and having to make time to decompress, but always,  _ always _ , coming back together at the end of it all with an apology and a kiss; and always being stronger for it.

They’ve built this love, in the years after, from the ground up. Sometimes it will still catch him off guard; the glint of Aziraphale’s ring, the weight of his own, their shoes together by the door, an odd novel left in the greenhouse — little evidences of their life together.

He snuggles in closer, strong arms wrapped around him like a benediction; sinking into the warmth that is the love of his life, living in this new world where they can be together, loving each other loudly and without fear.

Freedom is for the humans; but now, it is also for them.

“Come on, darling,” Aziraphale says as he shifts. Crowley clings tight to him, determined to keep the angel here, convinced there’s nowhere else to be. His efforts are in vain as Aziraphale somehow manages to untangle himself and leave the bed, which instantly feels colder without him. 

“But angel…” Crowley whines, face down in the mattress as he is.

“Wily old serpent, the water is going to get cold.”

Crowley opens his eyes at this, blinks at Aziraphale a few times, mind working to catch up with what his ears have heard. “Water? Did you…?”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale says with a kiss to his forehead as he scoops the demon up into his arms. “I ran you a bath, nice and piping hot just like you like them. It’s been so long since I last washed your hair.”

Crowley wraps his arms instinctively around Aziraphale’s neck, nuzzling his face there to hide the way he’s blushing. Aziraphale knows just what it does to him, being picked up and tossed around like this; it sends a thrill through him to this day to feel the strength that bubbles just underneath Aziraphale’s skin.

It’s only a short walk to the bathroom, one that Crowley would’ve been perfectly capable of making himself. But he knows that Aziraphale longs to take care of him, just like Aziraphale knows Crowley yearns for the physical connection in the afterglow. It’s a benefit to both of them, really.

In the center of their bathroom, right below the window overlooking the sea, is a clawfoot tub. An old iron antique that Aziraphale had insisted on when they were remodeling the house. Crowley had resisted at first, wanting something a bit more flash and stylish. But he had to admit, after these past few years, he was rather growing to like the thing.

“Here we go. It’s hot, so I’ll go slow.” Gently, ever so gently, Aziraphale lowers him into the water. The cold-blooded beast inside of Crowley hisses with pleasure as the hot water hits his skin, hot enough to scald a human but just this side of perfect for a snake. It stings, tingles with pain and pleasure in equal measure as he sinks in down to his chin. The warmth of the water washes over him, soothes his aching muscles and tired bones; he sighs, content with the world and with his lot in life.

“S’perfect, angel.” The words come out slurred in this relaxed state, caveat of never having truly mastered the human form. Too many bones, too-dry lips, tongue not always able to keep from splitting. Aziraphale loves him in spite of it, maybe a bit because of it.

“I’m glad. I want you to be comfortable, after all.”

“Fully successful on that count.” Crowley leans back, his neck resting on the enameled rim of the tub. The tub itself holds the heat in the water nicely, but the edge is always pleasantly cool. A sharp breath of ice on the back of his neck, a pleasant juxtaposition with the heat of the water. He pokes his feet out near the edge, shimmering black scales drifting in and out of existence. His toes curl over the edge as he enjoys the cool sensation against the snakeskin of his feet.

Aziraphale slips his bathrobe on before grabbing a cup from their bathroom shelf. He kisses Crowley’s forehead as he settles behind him, knees pressed into the plush bathmat. Soft and sturdy fingers card through Crowley’s hair, pulling it back, working through the tangles. His fingers linger like the kisses of lovers, soft against Crowley’s scalp as they smooth through the crimson strands. 

Crowley’s been keeping it long lately, here in the safety and happiness of their lives. He doesn’t want to look at it too closely, how comfort begets longer hair and stress makes him want to hack it off. He still remembers the week before Warlock’s eleventh birthday, standing there at the sink in his flat with clippers in hand. He’d shaved his beard off entirely (an artifact of his time as a maths tutor), hacked through his already short hair. Would’ve shaved himself bald if he hadn’t stopped. Something about control, something about not making it easy for Hell to grab him, to drag him down. 

Silly, he knows. But sometimes things just are.

But now, as Aziraphale strokes and pulls through it, there is no fear. There’s only the gentle touch of Aziraphale’s hands, accompanied by the warm waterfall of water soaking through to his skin. Aziraphale holds a hand against his forehead, keeping the hot water out of his eyes. There’s a snap of a bottle opening, the smell of benzoin and argan oil wafting through the air as Aziraphale starts to wash his hair.

He starts at the crown, lathering up the suds and massaging deep into his scalp. Crowley closes his eyes, lets Aziraphale’s hands set the pace as he’s pushed this way and that from the circular motion of them. 

“Your hands are magic, angel,” Crowley says with a sigh, letting his head fall forward as Aziraphale massages the base of his skull, working the shampoo in deep.

“You don’t like my magic act,” Aziraphale snips at him fondly, “but, I suppose, I can take that as a compliment.”

“Better than a card trick.”

“I’ll have you know I’m  _ very _ good at card tricks.” Aziraphale moves to pull the shampoo through the length of Crowley’s hair, hands soft and steady, caring for it the way Crowley likes. “But if I can make you happy with this, that’s the best magic in the world.”

Crowley whines low in his throat and sinks down into the water, tiny bubbles escaping to the surface where the sound escapes from his mouth, andAziraphale chuckles. He takes the cup again, rinses the shampoo out of Crowley’s hair (still careful not to get any into his eyes), and kisses the top of his head.

Two strong arms wrap around Crowley from behind, sinking down into the water as Crowley rises back out to meet him. There are soft lips on the shell of his ear, softer words, tiny promises of “I love you” and “I’m yours”, words that carry so much more weight for the six thousand years behind them. Crowley threads his fingers through Aziraphale’s as the angel kisses his shoulder. There’s a spot, on their ring fingers, where two bands of silver line up perfectly with each other. Exist alongside each other as though meant to, because they are.

An angel and a demon, live here in a cottage; one of them falls from Heaven to find peace on the ground, on Earth; the other rises to be able to see the sky once again. Through it all, they orbit around each other, and into this moment. Into this soft and quiet night, into this cottage, and into this bathroom.

For in this house dwelleth the fullness of their love; body, soul, and heart to heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt is late because I had a severe mental health break, that was brought on by many things but one of them was trying to do too much in too short of a period of time. I wanna remind anyone who reads my stories that taking time for yourself is _so very important_ , especially if you suffer from any kind of mental illness. Burnout is real, and it hurts - especially when you ignore it and push through and it starts to affect your every day life.
> 
> Please take care of yourselves and each other, my friends <3 Take time to relax, and take time to just be.


End file.
